


The Shepherd Boy and Goliath

by grizzly_bear_bane



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Goliath references, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minotaur references, Past rape/non-con reference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bane is a Goliath-like giant who was brutalized by his village and cursed to rot in the Pit’s labyrinth of tunnels and feed off of criminals. </p><p>John is wrongfully condemned for his eldest brother Peter’s debts, and is sent into the pit to fight Bane. He is terrified, but finds his strength and realizes that Bane is much more afraid of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The seed has definitely been planted in me to try a Bane/Blake story (I've been incepted! Help!).
> 
> So this is just an idea I've been playing around with. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Comments, critiques, and suggestions are always appreciated.

++++

There was a crack in the stones that made up the north wall of the Pit.

It let Bane know that there was a cliff face on the other side. A cruelty unplanned by his captives; freedom just beyond the rock, but how far did this cliff plunge?

Years had passed, perhaps, since he ventured to the mouth of the Pit, feeling safer hidden, tucked away in the shadows, ready for the next condemned man to find his way through the labyrinth of tunnels into Bane’s hell.

In the early morning, he would rouse himself just to see the sunlight break through the crack and illuminate his world, free him from the darkness for a few precious hours.

Sometimes, when the loneliness became unbearable, the last seconds before the light disappeared, he would swallow up his pain and light the torches. He hated the fire. Fire burned and disfigured. Fire killed. Fire…

When the villagers came for him they descended with torches. The weapons and curses came later.

Bane was only just a man, a youth not more than a year before. His father pushed him to be a soldier, to train, and prove himself worthy. His mother only wanted her son to be happy and live in peace as a herder like his father and brothers.

But no giant could have a life as simple as that. When his father died and his brothers took everything, his mother gathered him up and headed for the distant hills and outlands, hiding her son, anything to keep him out of harmful hands.

His brothers were not so kind. They attacked in the middle of the night, burning the house to the ground, not knowing that their mother was asleep inside. Bane had gone up into the mountains to bring back a lamb and returned to see his brothers pulling out the corpse of their mother from the smoking remains of their home.

He blinked and his hands were around the necks of two of his older siblings. It was a mistake. His mother was dead and there was blood on his hands now. There would be no chance to mourn, no opportunity to gain forgiveness. His fate was sealed.

The others ran back to the village only to return with a mob. They threw ropes around his neck and legs, trapping him, burning him, and destroying his face. Lying in the dark, Bane remembers only blurred images and the pain.

His shoulder and back he had to nurse to some operable level himself, his face he could not fix, when he was thrown into the Pit. He was sentenced to live forever with criminals; murderers, thieves, and rapists who soiled his innocence with every life he was forced to take just to survive, hoping that one day he would be freed.

That day never came. He roared up to the heavens until his throat went raw and his chest ached. He sent up pleas for mercy, for a blessing, for a reason why, but no god sent down any answers.

More men were lowered down, hunting Bane with a fervor he had never known. He was cursed, marked as a token of freedom to any man who could slay him. There were times when he welcomed death, but even that sweet silence denied him.

Seven years, hundreds dead and still more were plunged into the Pit. They were predators after a myth of a giant beast with horns and a bull’s head. Bane hid himself, embraced the dark tunnels, and before long, hunger and thirst became his allies. Men, even those criminals who once stooped to the level of animals begging and fighting for scraps would not touch a rat to eat it, would perish from the limits of their own body long before reaching Bane.

There were days when the torches remained unlit. The ray of sun would disappear and Bane would let the darkness swallow him up. He knew that there would one day come the time when the darkness would be everlasting. He yearned for that.

Until then, he waited. Bane would wake early to find his chalk pieces and draw on the stones. Most of them the images arose from his dreams. He did not know what they meant, but it was enough to protect his mind from tumbling into madness. He shared his storage of flat bread and dust-dry meat with the rats when there were no bodies to feed them.

 Another day passed, another day shielding his frayed mind from the torch fires. He would rest tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he would let the dark rule the day.

+

John could barely lift the shield.

His skinny legs shook, under the weight of his armor, out of fear of what he had to face.

“Remember, my son,” the older shepherd Gordon said at his side. “Remember the stories of your childhood, and all that I’ve taught you. You face a hard road ahead, but I have faith in you, that you’ll win. You have power in you. I can feel it, my treasure. And don’t forget what this monster is and how you can survive. It can only hurt you if you let it see your fear. So be fearless. If you are victorious, the general will let you come back home.”

“At this point, the beast will smell his fear from here, father,” Peter laughed, playing with a braid of fleece. “Stop babying him so much—”

Bruce grabbed Peter by the front of his robes angrily, “That’s easy for you to say. You put him in this mess. If you’re were so tough, brother,” he spit out the word, “then you would own up to what you did and go fight the beast yourself. But no, you would rather hide behind a boy and call _him_ a coward.”

“Enough, my sons. Please.” Gordon was tired, and, John noticed, resigned. He knew his son’s fate and was accepting it. There was little hope left for John now. “It’s time.”

The chariot kicked up dust when the horses stopped, the solider steering it said nothing, just waited until John stepped up behind him.

He looked back at his father, and held in his tears. If even one escaped, if his lip trembled, his eldest brother would mock him again. He couldn’t shame his father anymore nor could he bear more shame himself. This would have to be his first act of bravery; showing his father that he was ready to face the road ahead.

“Don’t let the beast get you in its horns,” Peter shouted at his back as the horses began to trot. “I pray that the gods help you, little rock slinger. You’ll need it.”

John’s hands were shaking. When he turned to say goodbye to his family once more, Bruce was carrying his collapsed father back to their home. He had never seen his father or brother cry, not even when his mother died, but they did so freely now.

Mourning John.

Peter watched him the length of the trail, smiling like a demon all the while.

There were times in the past when John looked up to Peter, thrived under the wings of both his older siblings. No more. Peter revealed himself to be a cheat and a mongrel even when it came to his flesh and blood.

Their father owed money. It was Peter’s gambling debt. It was Peter’s idea to sell John to a man obsessed with forcing boys into such young lovers. It put their father into more debt just to bring him back. And when he couldn’t pay, the General sent debt collectors after them and then a conviction.

Gordon would not send his firstborn into the Pit, no matter how much grief and shame Peter caused.

The General ordered John to take his place. It was finalized long before the messenger could even send them the order.

The Pit. When John’s body was too green to even work a saw or cut wood by himself.

A death sentence for a few pieces of gold that John had never held in his hands.

Peter and Bruce would inherit the sheep and goats when their father passed. John hoped his life was worth it.

+

John pulled on the hem of his fleece tunic. It was all he could manage until the solider dropped the torch and its lighter into the Pit’s mouth after him. It clattered to the floor, sending echoes throughout the pitch-black tunnels.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, until deafening screeches chased his echo back. Swarms of bats fled passed him and up out of the mouth, carrying the last of his resolve with them. John’s body quaked. Every moment his sword and shield lay on the ground by his knees the more vulnerable he became, trying his hardest and failing again to light the torch.

What he saw when the fire rose at last was almost as terrifying as the dark. A stone floor stained black with blood and littered with bones and the dust of older bones.

He couldn’t make his legs move, he was paralyzed on his knees. He dared not look up lest the unreachable night sky trick him into having more hope. There was no victory here, no chance of freedom even if he did the impossible and killed the beast.

Where was the beast now? John had half a mind to snuff out the torch, hide himself in the shadows, but what beast in a cave, what monster capable of laying waste to all these men, could not find him, in the light or darkness?

His father and Bruce would never know that he lay down and died a coward. Who here could tell them that? But the gods would know. They would reveal his shame and his father would bear it. He couldn’t let that happen.

John found his feet, the shield heavy, restricting. He closed his eyes and laid it back on the ground, along with his sword. From a rope under his tunic, his pouch hung securely over his shoulder. He held the torch and searched the ground for stones large enough for swinging.

He would try. That was enough. He prayed that when the hour came for him to stand face to face with the monster in the dark the gods would favor him over his cursed opponent and lift him to safety and freedom in heaven.

+

The bats woke Bane from an uneasy rest. There was an intruder here, somewhere in the labyrinth.

He groaned tiredly as he left his cot, not bothering with the fire. Years underground made seeing in the dark an easy and necessary skill. He would dispose of the invader and perhaps, sleep well when he returned.

It wasn’t long before he saw the faint glow of orange light just around the next bend. Bane had long since stopped worrying himself with weapons, his hands would suffice. Maybe this death would rekindle some of his former spirit, or maybe this would be _his_ death, his passage to freedom.

His heavy footfalls bounced off the walls and made ripples in the puddles of water, the rats in this part of the labyrinth still feared him and ran towards the glowing light.

For a long moment, Bane felt assured that he was still dreaming when he turned the corner. It wasn’t a predator or prey that he saw clutching the torch with a small rodent on his shoulder, but a youth no more than a boy.

Bane walked several paces behind his tiny back, fascinated by him. His arms and legs Bane feared could break so easily if this boy was in the wrong hands. His hair was black and as curly as the wool on his tunic. His shoulders, tight with fear, looked small enough that Bane imagined he could pick the boy up with one hand. He reached out but held back. This boy carried fire. This was not one of his dreams.

Why was this boy here? Who would condemn one so frail to this fate?

+

John held the torch away from his body but cowered over his rock sling as he edged his way slowly through the tunnels. Every now and then he would reach a dead end of collapsed stone and have to turn around, try a new route.

There were rats down here, curiously plump and healthy, running over ridges in the walls and along the floor over John’s feet.

He remembered once being afraid of rats and spiders. His father was disappointed whenever he had to coax John intotaking turns with his brother to stay with the sheep during the months that squatters and thieves would raid small farms at night.

That fear was so small in comparison. The spiders twisting and weaving their traps overhead were twice as large as anything John had seen. The rats did not flee from him at all. Paranoia set in. Were the rats following him or leading him to the beast? It no longer slipped his notice that the skeletons in rags that he passed looked eaten over. What else would such a hellish beast live off of down here?

John shivered in his soul at the thought.

He dropped the torch though it thankfully stayed alight when a smaller rat fell from the ceiling and clung to his tunic. He rushed to dislodge it but three rats were trying to crawl up his bare legs. The little runt in his hand shivered almost as much as John, terrified of the rats at his feet. John kicked at them making them scatter and studied the creature balled up in his hand, small as a mouse. It looked up at him and back at the ground worried, its little pawns holding onto his thumb, willing John to keep it safe.

John wanted to put it on the ground and keep moving but a part of him worried what would happen if he left it to fend for itself. If John had had a protector against Peter, against the man he was sold to… He cringed putting the rodent back on his shoulder. It stayed put as he picked up the torch and commanded his feet forward, surprisingly comforted to no longer walk this path alone.

It felt as if he’d traveled for hours by the time hunger set in. There was bread in his pouch but he wouldn’t dare take it out anywhere that the rats could get to it. There was a water source down here, somewhere. Some times it dripped from above or ran in small streams over the floor. John didn’t so much as entertain his thought to follow the stream. The water could run through a crack, but that wouldn’t help John to escape if he couldn’t fit or found himself in an inescapable pool of water and drowned.

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck spiked suddenly as if a ghost hovered near. John imagined this place to be filled with ghosts. But ghosts didn’t breathe.

A puff of hot air tickled the top of his head. He stopped walking and closed his eyes, willing his heart not to break free from his chest. How long had he missed the footsteps behind him, and the other’s heavy, labored sighs.

The tiny rat burrowed into the pocket inside his tunic. Alone again it seemed. He swallowed deeply and braced himself for the end.

John spun on his heel and froze, face-to-face with a knotted belt made of rope. It was wrapped around a waist the size of a tree trunk. He looked up to a face that startled him enough to take a step back. This monster’s face was wrapped in linen, but there were no bull horns or blood-dripping fangs like the stories told.

He wanted to reach up as high as he could and touch the linen but the giant’s hand extended first. John panicked not wanting to be crushed. He closed his eyes and drove his dagger into the giant’s stomach as hard as he could. He waited to hear him cry out in pain, but when he peeked behind his eyelashes his dagger had barely pierced the giant’s robes.

He advanced on John as if the blade wasn’t even there, his hand outstretched again to grab John before he could run off. John squirmed and kicked, his foot connecting with the giant’s covered mouth. Now the monster roared in anger. John was dropped on the ground in a heap as the giant’s hands went to his face protectively. John’s last thread of courage disappeared under the weight of his enraged glare. He scrambled off the ground and ran, the giant not far behind, though almost clumsy in his moments.

When John gained enough distance, he swung his rock sling over his head, let it pick up speed until the right moment. He let go and the rock cracked against the giant’s forehead. He bled, stunned by the hit but continued to advance, stumbling all the way, his eyes glassy.

John moved to run again and found himself trapped by dead ends. He leaped forward and rolled under the giant’s legs, his dagger ready when the beast turned and stabbed his chest over and over, still barely drawing blood. He tried to duck when the giant’s swung out his hand but the blow connected. He hit the wall at his side, his vision blurring as the giant knelt over him and the world faded to black.

+

John felt a tickle on his stomach first before he realized that he was floating. His eyes slid open, dazed and his stomach twisted. He was watching the floor moved under him as he was carried upside down. He moaned at the pain in his shoulder and temple. His stomach was tickled again.

The rat survived, but was John dead? The only thing he knew of the afterlife was that if you were a bad person, it was filled with pain and continuous suffering. That was what Peter had told him when his mother died.

He closed his eyes again and awoke on soft rags and what felt like fleece. A damp cloth was pressed to his temple. When his eyes opened he saw only darkness so he closed them tight again.

“She is very small,” the low voice rumbled near his head. John could hear the giant’s labored breaths louder than before. He too was in pain.

“What is her name,” the voice pressed, scratched from disuse and muffled by the thick mask of cloth over his face.

John didn’t understand. He couldn’t see, he was cold and hungry, and he knew that he was dead or dying in the giant’s lair. He tried to push up onto his back but his head swam.

“Rest,” the giant commanded. “Save your strength for healing, little one. In the morning I shall find out what kind of little devil you are,” he vowed.

John tried to find his dagger but his fingers only found the small rat pressed now against his neck, equally terrified. The voice confused him. That didn’t sound like a monster at all.

Just a man. Who was angry, who might just pity John enough to kill him in his unconscious state rather than make him suffer for his attack.

John’s body surrendered to sleep once more the second he felt an enormous hand press light as a feather over his heart, rubbing the curls of fleece on his tunic curiously.

+


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might get better for Bane and John, I promise! 
> 
> T___________T

 

++

John wasn’t a foolish boy, despite the amount of trouble he tended to find himself in when Bruce would rescue him from the bottom of the well, or up a tree with a feral dog trying to bite his feet. Nothing in his life prepared him for this, but his instincts were sharp as ever.

His whole arm from shoulder to wrist was throbbing in pain. He lay on his stomach and could feel the little rat still hiding close into his neck. John wanted to open his eyes but didn’t want the giant to know he was awake. It was a surprise that he was still breathing, what could the giant be waiting for?

He peeked under his lashes. The room was alight with sun shining through the crack in the wall. There were crude chalk drawings here and there, depicting scenes of battles, and sheep fields, and old Macedonian-built cities. He could see the giant nodding off in one corner. His forehead was stained with blood.

Suddenly he roused himself. John closed his eyes tightly and waited for an attack that never came. He peeked again. The giant had to tilt his head forward lest he hit the ceiling, and hobbled with a great effort John had not noticed before.

He realized that he was buried under the giant’s thick robes. He was comfortable, perhaps more so than he had ever been sleeping on hay and a sheet with his brothers and the lumpy soiled bed of his old master. Except, as with his old master, he was naked. Where was his tunic? What on earth was the giant planning?

John openly stared as he moved about, stoking a fire, stirring a makeshift spoon in a pot, and mending a tear in his pants. He was covered in scars that looked like they could kill someone small like John. It was no wonder now that he felt none of boy’s attack. One didn’t live through the type of pain that caused those scars only to be afraid of a little knife. John needed a new way out.

The giant moved again and carried with him a whiff of cooking food. John’s stomach growled.

He turned. “This light does not last very long. If you mean to kill me again, or try, you should perhaps do it now.”

John watched him pour what looked like a strange stew into a cracked clay bowl. He sat up carefully pulling the robes with him but didn’t speak.

Bane eyed the boy. “Are you hungry, little devil?” He extended his hand. Just as he suspected, the boy reached out for the food so he pulled back. “Good. If you want to eat, talk. What is your name?”

His captive tried not to show his longing, but his hands toyed with the robes. No matter. Bane had nothing but patience to spare. He sat on the floor at the edge of the cot, waiting until finally the boy said, “John,” in as tough a voice as he could muster.

Bane smiled behind his shroud. The boy was as adorable and tiny as his rat. “Why are you here, John?”

“If I kill you, I can go back home.”

“Understood, but why are you here,” he repeated.

The boy pulled the robes tighter around him still, a touch of weariness crept into his face. John had nothing to hide here. “My father refused to let me die a slave.”

“Your father is a slave?”

“No, a shepherd.”

His eyebrows rose with interest. “A free man? He sold you but had a change of heart?”

John’s stomach growled when he looked back at the bowl. “My brother did. For his debts.”

Bane’s eyes narrowed trying to understand. “I see. Your father is an old man no longer in control of his household?”

John’s mouth twitched with anger. He had asked himself that very question many times. “My brother is uncontrollable but he is the best herder so my father needs him. And my father, he’s…very forgiving,” he offered bitterly.

Bane nodded slowly, taking it in. “Yes. Brothers and fathers tend to fall on the side of being unjust more oft than not.” He shifted on the ground closer. “Your father killed your master?”

“He would be here instead, if he had.”

“Fair. You killed your master, and your brother?”

“No. But I suppose compared to this, it would have been worth it.” But impossible, his mind supplied. John was convinced now that he still feared his master even more than he feared this giant, and he could never win against Peter.

“So what did your father do?”

“He bought me back, with no money.”

“They send boys off to die for their father’s debts now? What a world, indeed. Why were you not simply returned to your master?”

“My brother made the General believe that I would end my life before going back, and what good punishment would come of that?”

“Your master was unkind?”

“He was…” John frowned.

“A monster,” Bane finished for him.

“Yes.” To John’s amazement, the giant looked back at him amused.

“With horns?”

“No.”

“But is he very tall, like me?”

“He certainly never killed hundreds of men and left their corpses to rot in a trail from there to—” he bit his tongue ashamed to have taken the bait so easily. His master used to do the same, trap John into giving himself a reason to hurt his slave.

They stared at one another for a long while. John’s eyes fell away first. Bane’s head tilted to the side like a confused dog. “You are very weak to be a useful slave,” he mused. “You would do better pulling weeds from a garden than plowing fields.” The boy blushed, looking pained as old memories resurfaced. “Unless…” It was Bane’s turn to blush now behind his linen. “I see. You weren’t harvesting wheat in any fields.”

John caught the subtitle change in his expression and didn’t like it. He gripped the robes with all the strength he had left. “Where are my clothes,” it tumbled out before he could stop it. He braced himself for a beating and for the hell that he knew was much worse. He couldn’t kill the beast. It would be impossible to fight him off like this.

Bane rose and put the bowl in John’s lap instead and resumed his chores around the room. “Rats, like the little one you have, can be gentle creatures. It has been a long famine for many of them here. You are the first one brought down in several months, and there was blood on your tunic when you fell asleep. I didn’t want them to get confused. Sometimes they will come after you even when you are still warm and breathing. So I am washing the blood out of your clothes,” he said in a suspiciously cordial tone, as if John was a guest. “It should give you a better chance to stay unbitten.”

The rat licked a drop of the stew from the bowl’s rim, suddenly not so cute anymore. John picked it up by the tail and dropped it on the bed.

Bane was confused for a moment, and a bit insulted, when John cringed away from the rat when it leapt back into his lap. “If you’re afraid that she will eat you in your sleep, I can crush her now, if you like.”

“No!”

Bane chuckled when John clutched the tiny creature to his chest.

“What is her name, little one?” John shrugged back, looking especially shy and small with the large bowl dwarfing his lap. “You cannot form a proper bond if she is nameless.”

“What’s your name? How did you get down here? Why do you cover your face when there is no one here to impress?”

“My father named me Bane. That is all you need from me.”

John felt incredibly cheated. He sighed. “Why are you doing all this,” he finally asked. “Why not just kill me like the others instead of giving me your food?”

Bane glanced over his shoulder at him. John noticed that he held that arm close to his body and rarely used it. Bane shrugged his good shoulder. “You cannot kill me, and I refuse to kill you, just like you won’t kill that little rat. I would take no pleasure in it. You are innocent.”

“You,” he cleared his throat when his voice came out in a squeak. “You took pleasure in the others?”

“Of course!” Bane growled low, chilling John to the bone when he continued, “Besides, you think me a monster from nightmares. It would be rude to alter your reality so suddenly.” He lit only one of the torches. “Would you care to know my reality? You are weak, but you could be strong and you are a scared little thing now, but… Well, I suppose that doesn’t matter since that you are down here with me.”

He was right. John couldn’t possibly complete his task and there was no way out. His only other option would be to stay here, the giant’s toy, or find a corner to starve in.

John at last picked up the splintered, wooden ladle, eating a mouthful of the stew and then another. He tried to ignore the way the giant stared at him as he ate. Like he was a bug with a broken wing trying to fly just before it was crushed under a thumb. John felt like an ant, or the doll his mother made herself when Bruce and Peter stole it and tore off its arms, how he felt with his master. He drew his legs closer together and pushed the memory down with more food. It would only be a matter of time, he supposed, before the trick of hospitality wore thin and the giant finally demanded he pay up. This might be his last free meal.

John wanted to cry, but some men enjoyed seeing boys cry, so he kept the tears down. He placed the half empty bowl on the bed beside him, no longer hungry, watching the rat attempt to climb up the side and fail. He felt very tired again and curled back into a ball under the robes.

Bane didn’t take long to sit on the bed and reach out for John. He squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath, but Bane only pushed him gently on his stomach again so that he could rub circles over John’s back. Too much weight and pressure, but John didn’t speak.

“Be patient, little devil. It takes time to grow accustomed to the meat, but your body will learn to adjust. It’s the salt, but it is necessary for preserving the rations. It will make you stronger, less tired.”

John sat up craning his head to see Bane’s face. His shroud was littered with pink splotches from a hasty washing.

He dared to ask, what had he been fed?

+

The very instant Bane fell asleep, propped up on the cot against the wall, John redressed and left.

His shoulder was still terribly bruised, his back hurt, and he wanted water, but he couldn’t stop moving until there was enough space between him and the giant so that he could figure out any way to escape for good.

He walked briskly and as quietly as possible, angry when he found himself in dead ends, expecting the man to appear around the next corner, at every turn.

He hurled and heaved but did not stop longer than he had to.

He became sick after the first stew and refused to eat at all the next day. On the third, Bane nearly broke his jaw and neck trying to force-feed him human jerky instead of the liver stew. His arm was broken and aching in its splint, throbbing to the point of nausea but John would suffer more of the giant’s clumsy handling if it meant not having to give in. 

John was terrified and shocked numb by the confusing revelation. The giant was a cannibal, when rats with fat bodies were in abundance here. 

John heard bats screeching off to his right. He was near the mouth of the Pit. He broke into a careful run, not trying to lose himself in another wrong passageway.

Light filtered in. The bodies looked more menacing with so much sun cast upon them, giving John proof that his days were numbered here. Perhaps the giant was plumping him up before… The fresher corpses looked very skinny, not nearly enough meat on those bones to satisfy someone as big as Bane.

John was almost there, still not sure what he would do once he reached the room’s center, when he was knocked to the ground.

Dazed, he righted himself in time to see two men toss a rope around his neck, one man holding him taunt while the other looked him over. They both appeared to be Roman soldiers in their build and carriage, but in plain robes, John couldn’t be sure.

One spit on a corpse. “Where is it? The beast? From which point did he chase you, boy?”

John didn’t know. He’d felt his way through most of the tunnels in the dark before sunrise hours ago. A part of him wanted to point an estimated guess, but curiously he held back. “I don’t know, I never saw him, just heard his footsteps behind me so I ran.” He tried to pull the rope loose but the man held him tighter.

“Think we have time to spare then,” he asked the other into John's hair. “He’s a little rough around the edges but still looks ripe enough for picking.”

The man across from them rolled his eyes but looked John over again and nodded. “You and your Jewish boys,” he teased his partner advancing, a knife much bigger than John's swung on his belt.

He tried to buck out of the man’s grasp but was thrown on his back, jarring his arm enough to make him scream out. The men were on him at once, but halted when John’s screaming was met with a roar like a lion’s. The sun was still high in the sky and yet bats swarmed up and out of the Pit, rats scattered in droves, fleeing the northern tunnels where John had run through.

John’s head swam for a moment as he slipped through their limp hands and pushed himself away. Bane’s form dwarfed the entrance of one tunnel, rage in his eyes, his chest heaving, the rock frame of the arch cracking under his grip. At once John realized that he saw Bane much clearer in the shadows than the men could. They were still dependent on the brighter, open space of the outside world.

Now John understood the lore overshadowing the giant. Bane’s growls could chill the blood alone.

The men quickly recovered, unsheathing their weapons. For a split second, John panicked. What if these men succeeded? Where would that leave John? The giant still had not laid hands on him, but he knew for sure he would not survive long at the mercy these soldiers.

“The beast is angry we touched his little kitten,” one man taunted. “Don’t worry boy,” he yelled over his shoulder at John, “We’ll finished taking care of you once we've destroyed this pest.”

It was enough. Bane rushed forward. The change in the soldiers was immediate now that the giant was fully in the light. He had no weapons, needed none. His hand wrapped around one man and with little effort his bones began to pop and crunch under the muffled sounds of his panicked screams.

Except the man’s lungs were crushed, it couldn’t be his voice. It was John’s. He clamped his hand over his mouth but it wasn’t enough. Bane released the body and moved for the other man cowering behind a pillar. He swung out with his sword, slicing at Bane’s thigh but could not recover fast enough to escape.

John turned away and covered his head when Bane pulled his body apart as easy as Bruce could split a blade of grass.

They were alone again, just John and the giant still heaving with rage.

“You are a fool boy, John,” his voice rumbled up John’s spine.

He turned and got to his feet on shaking legs. Bane stood over him, his hands still bloody. John pressed his back to a pillar and hurried to wipe the tears off of his face.

“Did you learn your lesson here today?”

John shook his head. “There is no use. I am already as good as dead.”

“Don’t ever say that, not while you still have breath in your lungs while these men rot.”

“I don’t care if they rot. I shouldn’t be here. It’s not my fault. You didn’t have to kill anyone. That was your choice.”

Bane stepped back as if from a physical blow. “My choice? My choice to be hunted? Yes, I suppose it is my choice, whether or not to intervene when more men are brought here and _defile_ you! You had only to say that you did not need my help and I would have left you in peace with your new masters.” His voice thundered over the boy. “But you think I killed these men for my own pleasure. Did you forget that they were here as criminals, that they meant to track me down? You would have them kill me?”

John shook his head, answering his feet. “No. Never.” He remembered telling the men a lie when asked about Bane. “I just want to go home.”

“Well you can’t. And by yourself you are an easy target to the next man who is brought here. I can keep you safe, but if you run from me again I will not chase you.”

John shook his head again. “I’m afraid of you.” There, he said it, as if it wasn’t obvious to the giant. Then again, maybe it wasn’t.

Bane’s eyes narrowed. “Why? I try to keep your fed and warm. I saved your life,” he growl.

“From what,” John sobbed. “What can death bring me but peace from my suffering in this hell? If I had the courage I would do it myself. I don’t want to stay here.”

“Enough,” he roared, sending a thunderous echo through the tunnel, shaking everything to silence. John was shaking like a leaf in a breeze. Bane didn’t feel his hand rise and clench into a fist. He punched the rock overhead making John scream and cower as debris crashed down around him. The boy only sobbed more, trembling.

Bane’s anger drained from him at once and he lowered his hand. Ashamed by his outburst. He stooped down to pick the boy up but paused. He wouldn’t force John to come with him. He turned away.

“Wait,” John’s voice wavered. He scrambled to his feet. “Wait. Bane?” The giant turned to him patiently. John pointed to the ceiling in awe through his tears. “Look what you did.” When Bane only stared at him he continued impatiently, “Bane you can touch the ceiling. And look at the rocks on the ground. You can get us out of here. Look!” He ran to Bane, grabbing two of his fingers to drag the giant over. “If you knocked apart more rocks you could make the step or platform needed for you to climb up, Bane!”

Bane wasn’t interested in the ceiling. John was touching him. He had never held another person’s hand in his life; maybe this was what it felt like. John was pretty now and would make one handsome man one day. When John shook his fingers to get his attention it made his heart flutter. Bane liked this feeling.

John looked back at him and shook his fingers again, but Bane wouldn’t stop looking at him. “Are you listening?” His stomach twisted. He released Bane like a hot coal and stepped back. “Bane?”

The giant blinked and narrowed his eyes up at the Pit’s mouth. “No. It won’t work.”

“Of course it will. We should try. Please?”

“I said no. It won’t work.”

John took another step back. He wanted to argue. What was wrong with—John stared at him with open wonder. “You don’t want it to work.” His jaw dropped when Bane turned away. “You want to stay here? Why?” He ran after Bane and blocked his path. “Are you possessed? Bane, we could leave right now and be free. Why won’t you—”

“Because there is nowhere else for me to go! I am safe here! Do you want to know what happens up there to people like me,” he demanded and ripped the shroud from his face. “No one can torment me here. I rule these tunnels. It is your world, up there, that is my only danger.”

He expected John to run screaming, to look at him in horror or to taunt him mercilessly. Instead John let fresh tears fall and he touched Bane’s thigh with a soul reaching sympathy Bane could not handle, knew not what to do with it. He covered his face once more and pushed John aside as gently as he could.

“Bane,” John sobbed behind him.

“If you wish to die out here alone, you may. I will not wait any longer for you to follow me.”

He walked through the tunnels, never looking back to see if John was behind him. After several paces in the growing dark, he felt John’s hand grasp his fingers again, held them tightly until they reached the torchlight of Bane’s room.

+ 


	3. Chapter 3

 

++

Bane sat on the floor with a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes and felt his anger receding in increments. He wanted to blow out the torches, let the darkness cover his weary body. It was never a happy occasion when he was forced to spill blood, not others, not his own, though this was the first time he’d kill for the sake of another.

And what had John done but cower from him. It enraged Bane. John would never see him as anything but a monster no matter what he did—until he saw Bane’s face.

It was a mistake, an action driven only by his anger, to prove once and for all that John was no different than anyone else. And hadn’t the villagers cowered in terror even before they destroyed his face?

He still didn’t know what to make of John’s tears. Humans cried when they were in pain or sad or scared. Did John hurt for him? Pity him?

John threw Bane’s head off balance; it happened more often than Bane could appreciate. No one, not even his mother who loved him, ever shed tears for him, and he had survived this long not needing them either. He was strong. John feared him, except… He alone had seen Bane’s blood, he knew of his fears, his scars. The careful authority that he’d set up couldn’t possibly survive now that the boy knew he was weak, conquerable.

John’s quiet hiccupping sobs still drifted from across the room. Bane opened his eyes, watched John move rigidly, each breath seemed to draw more pain to the surface. He looked battered, moved like he was battered. His spirit even more so than his flesh.

His most severe injury was Bane’s own fault. It was harder than he’d expected to remember the boy’s fragility in a place like this, in more than one way, now that he really looked at John as more than a would-be giant slayer. John’s body might not survive another attack, or another mistake from Bane. And his spirit, well… He was a bird with crushed wings trapped at the bottom of a dry well.

John did not belong in this place. Innocence couldn’t thrive here. But would that innocence have a better chance in the outside world? Bane’s scars were testament enough to the answer.

Bane needed that innocence. _He_ could thrive in it, and for a moment when John touched him, shed tears for him, it seemed that maybe the boy wanted Bane to thrive in that innocence as well.

“John,” he called him over to stand between his outstretched legs.

He winced and limped, his little rat clutched in his hand. “I was afraid she’d gotten hurt when I was attacked,” John whispered.

When Bane reached out the rat bit his finger and ran to the cot. John looked after her, abandoned.

“Don’t worry, she’s only frightened after such a trying experience,” Bane offered, wiping at John’s tears.

His attempt to smile crushed Bane. “That makes two of us.” 

“Three.” He held John’s face in his hand, examining the small bruise under his eye and eased the broken arm out of the sling with a pained sigh. It would have to be reset. He pitied the boy.

“How old are you, John?”

“Too old to be this defenseless,” he answered to his feet. “I turned sixteen not too long ago. Most boys become men in the armies at much younger. My brothers were already as strong our father by this age.”

“But no one so young as you has ever fought a giant and lived. You were a worthy opponent.”

“You and I remember that very differently.” John wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry for—”

Bane hushed him with a thumb. “Bring me the orange jar from the table and the medical supplies.” When he returned, Bane placed the linen in a neat pile in his lap, noticing for the first time the trickle of blood between John legs and his scraped knees. Alarmed, dreading the worst, that he had not come to John’s aid soon enough, he wiped away more tears and opened the jar. “Drink this.”

John eyed the analgesic brew inside suspiciously. “What is this?”

“Drink. It will help with the pain and hopefully allow for you to rest.”

He put the jar to his lips, swallowed a sip and coughed violently. Bane made him drink the jar empty. John’s skin flushed as it spread through his body, his eyes nearly black and his lids heavy. “Bane?”

“How do you feel?”

It took a while for John to focus and process the question. “Very warm.” He smiled beautifully, the tears gone.

Bane frowned. John, even bruised and upset, looked perverse the more his skin grew hot with a fever far different than one from sickness. It would be amusing if this reaction had been planned but it was clear that the dosage was too much for John’s size. If Bane ripped his arm off, he doubted the poor boy would even notice.

“Bane I don’t feel right anymore,” he mused, poking his own stomach through his clothes. “I don’t hurt, but… I feel my insides, and nothing else. At least, I’m not sure.” He scratched a spot on his neck erratically.

“Let’s take this off and have a look then.” Bane held his breath as they eased the fleece tunic over John’s head, trying his hardest not the hurt the muddled boy. He was always fascinated with the size of John’s clothes while the boy dressed or bathed. The fleece was soft, perhaps John’s hair was equally so. He would need warmer clothes soon, he noted, and something for his feet. He could make John a coat as well.

Bane opened his mouth to correct John but it was useless. He only needed to work around and over his undergarments but the thinner tunic was already on the floor and John was back to poking at his stomach, naked.

He kept his eyes above John’s waist for as long as was necessary examining and cleaning each bruise and scrape. A large part of him wished he’d taken his time on the soldiers, made them suffer for abusing John. Cooking them would have to suffice.

John’s shiver snapped Bane out of his thoughts. The boy blinked slowly, his lips parted.

The drug was definitely too strong. Bane’s eyes went to the wall.

John blushed and covered his erection. “Sorry.”

“It doesn’t take much for young bodies to wake, even without encouragement. Don’t worry.”

“But that’s the thing,” John said after a while, his eyes blazing when they met Bane’s, startling the man to silence, “I didn’t even know I _could_. Not after…” Bane could almost see John’s spirit wither for a moment. But there was something else there as well, amplified by the drug, undulating, warring behind John’s stare.

The little rat was back at John’s feet. Bane was eternally grateful for the distraction.

Relief washed over him to see that John’s bleeding came from a deep set of four finger scratches up his inner thigh and not what he’d feared, though they looked painful enough. It was thankfully only one of two places that needed extra care. He would have to keep John resting on his stomach to relieve the large bruise on his back but first, he still had to tackle fixing John’s arm.

The first time, setting the bone was done while John was clothed and unconscious, not standing in Bane’s personal space naked and nearly falling asleep on his feet. He ushered him to redress and sit on his leg. John leaned against him, his head resting on Bane’s chest.

He cradled the sleeping boy, bracing for the inevitable moment when he did something wrong and ruined John’s arm permanently.

John let out a quiet wince and relaxed again, his arm now back in place with no hardship. Bane would have danced if he knew how. He carefully adjusted and rewrapped the splint.

There would be little for him to do now, he lied, after checking his own leg and not bothering to wrap the thin wound. In truth there were always tasks and chores he could busy himself with, but…

John had a handful of Bane’s robes curled up in his lap like a blanket. Bane placed his hand over the boy’s legs and thumbed over his hair with the other, remembering to keep his weight controlled this time, his hands light.

Bane smiled at the way his heart fluttered again, the dark curls as soft as he’d imagined.

++

John woke up feeling half-dead and incredibly depressed; it was becoming an unpleasant routine after days of this.

Bane only gave him a tablespoon of the brew now, assuring John that his mood swings were because the drug. John couldn’t argue, he certainly didn’t feel _worse_ after taking another dose.

He could breathe much easier with the pain reduced, but he still slept away most of the mornings after breakfast. He didn’t ask Bane any questions, didn’t put too much thought into his spoonfuls. It seemed to relieved them both and made Bane relax to see John end his hunger strike.

When he woke this evening, John distracted himself with as many menial tasks as he could do with one good arm. Anything to put off facing Bane today. The man hadn’t moved from the floor in the corner very much since their return from the mouth of the Pit, though John couldn’t guess what the giant had been up to while he’d slumbered away the past several days in a stupor. He was cutting something with the knife he’d taken from the second soldier who was now roasting over the fire ring. John wanted to see what he was doing, but whenever he glanced over, Bane was watching him.

Anywhere else, with anyone else, he would be nervous. The kind of nervousness that felt like poison in his gut and made his head swim with dread—But not this time, not since tripping in front of that rich, athletic boy from Damascus who rubbed away the dust from John's back at the market. John was surprised enough by this feeling that he dropped the colorful pebbles he’d been busy collecting. His rat climbed out from the back of his tunic, clinging to his shoulder to see what made such a loud noise. She still didn’t have a name, something that curiously irritated Bane to no end.

Bane. John couldn’t stop his thoughts from circling back to Bane.

Seeing his face, feeling his pain, it made John feel helpless. What a world, indeed, as Bane always said, to destroy a man so viciously. And if the world had so destroyed Bane, then how could John survive?

He sank to his knees to collect the pebbles, eyes blurring again. John resigned himself to the fact that his tears would stop only when they were ready to. Each day, he would be fine one minute then sobbing again the next.

He had asked Bane for the last two days if he would help get John out of the Pit and each time the giant still refused.

John didn’t quite know what the tears were for, wouldn’t delve into that part of his mind that knew he wasn’t going to see his family again. All the times he’d turned his nose up at his father’s poor attempts to cook like John’s mother used to, or when he’d been terrified of the fish Peter and Bruce brought home, even being chased through his father’s fields by their donkey, it was gone now, slipped through his fingers like the pebbles on the floor.

And Bane… he didn’t know what to think of him anymore. He was a monster for being a cannibal, his mind wanted to say, and look at how easily he killed, how easily he could kill John. And John had only pushed him to anger since the day he arrived. No one’s patience was forever.

But following Bane back to this room, rather than up out of the Pit like they could have done, John’s eyes were opened: The only constant in this place was fear and despair, and it was poisoning Bane.

It would poison John.

The giant was now lost in thought, far away in some memory perhaps. John swallowed, bracing himself and then chickening out only to find his resolve again. He sat on the floor and turned to Bane.

“Can we try today?”

Bane paused his sewing for only a moment. “Rest, John.”

“I’m tired of resting. I want to go home. My family—”

“Put you here. And so long as your brother rules the household you wish to return to, he will only bring you more hurt. You’re safe with me.” He cut the thread with his teeth.

John toyed with a smooth reddish stone. “I know that Bane, and I am grateful now, but can’t we go up together?”

He sighed like a bull. “I would rather be alone here than up there, John.”

“But you wouldn’t be alone,” John tumbled out the words. In truth, he did like Bane’s company, didn’t notice until now that he missed Bane’s more talkative side. His brooding made John feel like he was in trouble. “I… We could live, together, in the mountains somewhere. You could build a house right out of the mountainside, like Petra. And I would visit my father and my brother, and you can still keep me safe. Please, Bane?”

Bane studied him for a long time. “You mean to run from me the second we are aboveground.” He was teasing John, or so he told himself.

John looked back at him, his expression open, honest. “No.”

“Your family would allow you to live far away from them with a monster,” Bane asked his spool of thread.

“But you’re not a—” He rubbed his face, frustrated. “We can show them all that you’re not a monster.”

“People are very stubborn, particularly with their superstitions.”

“You can’t hide from the world forever, Bane.”

“Call me a coward if you like, little devil, I do not care.”

“It’s not all bad, Bane.”

“No? You being here is the only convincing I need of that.”

“Bane—”

“ _Rest_ , John,” Bane ordered, ending the discussion.

John sat on the cot, refusing to be defeated. He wanted to throw a rock at Bane’s head and scream at him until his voice gave out. He opened his mouth, but Bane spoke first.

“You are an anomaly, John. Do you know what that means,” he asked. “You say your master was cruel to you, that he hurt you, and I believe this. You say that your brother has caused you immense suffering as well, and your father knows this, but you are here and your brother, the better herder, is not. You have been hurt by this world time and again, and yet you want nothing more than to return to it. You are an anomaly.”

John scratched at the scab on his knee, watching his little rat sleep in his lap. “What point is there to live at all if you have no hope that things will get better?” He shook his head at Bane when the giant huffed dismissively over his sewing.

“Men will break your body in the hopes of killing your spirit, but it can only work if you let it. My spirit’s been broken so many times, Bane, but I refuse to give up my hope.”

Bane pause, distracted from his task.

John’s eyes were far away. His shoulders were slumped but his voice was quiet and strong. “Most slaves who weren’t born slaves are raped into submission before they’re sold. I’ll spare you the horrors, but they do that because to them it’s the surest way to silence strong spirits, doesn’t matter if you only going to break your back in your masters fields, or clean his house and cook his food.

“I learned that most boys who are bought for the purpose of sex don’t go straight to a master. Money can be exchanged over your head several times before your body is sent to auction. Depending on how old you are when you are first sold to those people, you might either be locked away where no one can touch you until your master comes to collect you, or ‘trained’ if they think you are too old for a master to break you properly. Thirteen is the oldest that a boy can be sold a virgin.”

Bane sat forward, his fist clenched. “How old were you?”

“Old enough to be one of the unlucky ones. Fourteen.” He cleared his throat. “They attacked me at once. Peter had only just walked over the threshold to leave, but they couldn’t wait. The man who owned the auction house had to lock me in a cell just so that I wouldn’t be damaged when the time came to sell me.”

“John…”

“I remember the master’s other boys being relieved when I arrived. I didn’t understand why until he’d bought a new boy and I was able to sleep in peace that night. My father could have left me there, _should_ have. I was a total shame to him in everyway possible. I'm the runt of my family. I was afraid of everything, I was small, weak, and on top of that, a whore, but he risked everything for me, Bane. They were going to take our house, the land, but it didn’t matter. Any other man in his position would have forgotten about me. And you know, when I was cold and hungry there were other slaves that worked in my master's house who fed me, some even took beatings for me rather than let him hurt me again. Bane, there are people like that everywhere in this world and they aren’t hiding in caves like us.”

Bane was speechless. A fire burned in John’s eyes.

John put his rat on his shoulder and stood up stiffly. “May I have more medicine, Bane? My arm hurts.”

It took several breaths for Bane to stop staring, his jaw slack, before he got to his feet hastily, bumping his head on the ceiling. “Of course.” He nearly knocked over the jar.

John had to wrestle the spoon out of Bane’s grip or else let the giant spoon feed him. “Thank you.” The pressure building in his chest began to subside, the warm fuzziness returned, thankfully without the tears.

Bane was still a little wide eyed, more so when John looked up at him; the fire only glowing embers in his blown pupils now. The boy almost disappeared under Bane’s belly when he wrapped his arm around the giant’s waist in a hug.

John breathed in Bane’s scent when his hands came to rest on John’s back, mindful of his sling. “I will help you heal your spirit, Bane. I promise.”

Bane stroked his hair, blinking rapidly. He believed John. He wanted it too. “I have something for you.”

John pulled back, curious. Bane didn’t want to lose the contact but he returned to the wall and sat down, making it easier to be on John’s level. “Here. I made these for you.” They were şalvar though not as baggy as the odd pants John saw on the Turkish and Persian merchants. “It will start getting cold soon.”

John stared back, blank, like a mouse caught in a corner by a giant cat, as if he could blend into the wall behind him and disappear if he only stood still long enough. “Why?”

Bane’s pride evaporated. “You need them,” he half asked a question, unsure of his mistake. Did John not understand gifts?

No, he didn’t, not when Bane had only been a gentleman so far, when he could have forced John into doing anything without going through all this trouble. Except, it just didn’t seem like Bane would… No. Bane was different. John had to be sure. “What… what do you want in return for them? What do you want me to do?” He could feel tears creeping into the corner of his eyes, hoping and guarding himself all the same.

Bane was entirely confused. “I want…for you to wear them?” It didn’t seem like John’s people wore pants. Maybe he thought Bane was being offensive. “I’m sorry.” He was so ashamed for not thinking—

“Wait, no, you…” John edged closer. “You made these for me?” At Bane careful nod, he asked, “That’s all? I could sweep, or dust, or wash our clothes…”

“Just wear them? You don’t have to now, but when it is colder, I want you to stay warm.”

John stepped closer still, more curious than wary this time. “What did you use to make them?” They were very nice, soft to the touch and thick, study.

“An old pair of mine—I washed them first, before cutting them. These are clean,” he assured him.

John stood between Bane’s legs. ‘Why’ was on the edge of his tongue again – why would he do this for John, why would he put so much effort into this and ask for nothing in return – but he held it back, recalculating. When he looked at Bane the man was…nervous? Shy even, as if John would throw the gift back in his face.

There was nothing dishonest in Bane’s eyes. John felt that special kind of nervousness return, taking Bane’s gift.

“They’re very nice Bane, thank you,” he stated, slipping into them, petting the fabric. Bane had to help tie the string at his waist. He moved his legs back and forth, up and down, his face wide and open like a boy discovering a new and bizarre toy to play with. Being able to keep them secured at his waist, and being truly covered, modestly, for the first time, that seemed to light up John’s face even more. “What are these?” Pockets. John giggled and stuffed a small handful of pebbles from his tunic pouch into each one, fascinated.

Bane’s pride returned with full force. Before he could speak John grabbed his sleeve and kissed his cheek, his arm wrapped around his neck. Bane startled so much John thought he would be thrown to the ground.

He hadn’t expected one hug, let alone two. Bane held on this time. “I will make you a coat next.” John buried his face into his shroud, more thanks whispered reverently into Bane’s neck, making his heart flutter again. He would have to start making the coat at once, before John could lose interest. He enjoyed collecting pebbles; perhaps Bane could take John to the crystal cave far below, and the falls as well, if it meant more embraces like this.

John stepped back to play with his pockets again. Bane sent him off to the bed, encouraging John to empty his pockets if he intended to sleep in his pants.

John curled up on the cot, watching Bane try to focus on his cutting and sewing. He glanced up, meeting John’s eyes, and hesitated.

At last he rose to his feet and sank onto the cot with John.

+


End file.
